


Paging Dr. Pavus

by Dichotomous_Dragon



Series: Prowess [10]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Gen, Medical Examination, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:24:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6746545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dichotomous_Dragon/pseuds/Dichotomous_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian is forced to educate the surgeon on Bull's behalf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paging Dr. Pavus

**Author's Note:**

> One can hardly command the undead effectively unless one understands the bodies themselves, no? That's the premise, anyhow.

"I just....no. _No._ You're joking, right?" Dorian's voice was reedy with stress and clipped by annoyance, already well-enunciated words becoming sharp as a Carta blade in their brevity. Varric heard him before he even fully made it to the courtyard. His eye caught Sparkler pacing, normally impeccable visage tainted by the grime of hard riding and several weeks in the field. _Her Inquisitorialness must have just gotten back_ , he mused. 

 

The Iron Bull was on a small collection of furs on the ground nearby, too big for the normal cots the healers used. He waved at the dwarf but cringed at the motion; Varric could hear the slight wheezing whine accompanying Bull’s breathing as he got closer.

"What, was terrorizing the tavern not enough for you, Tiny?" the Bull chucked a little and groaned. Varric gestured at the bandaging on Bull's chest. "You okay?"

"Took a glancing blow from a hammer on the way back, day before yesterday. Didn't do much more than bruise, but the 'Vint's worried about the way I sound." He grunted a little. "Though breathing does suck, now that I mention it."

"Thought you normally have your personal medic work on you."

"Chargers are out in the field and Stitches is with them. He always leaves me at least one of his potions just in case. Took it last night." Bull attempted a shrug and failed miserably with a wince.

"Thus here you are, resorting to the common surgeon." Varric said, flinching as the voices behind them rose. "By whom Sparkler is not impressed."

"-is likely just stale humours, it should pass," the surgeon was saying, looking a bit flustered. Dorian looked a _lot_ flustered, a mottled wash of red creeping up his throat, not quite hidden behind his tall collar. At 'humours' he actually started growling.

" _Vishante kaffas_ , ‘humours’?! Backwards southern..." Bull and Varric watched him spin on a heel, silver eyes scanning the courtyard. The mage found what he was looking for: his hands glowed, his lips moving, as a burst of blue light tailed immediately by purple flew across the courtyard. The spheres of magic hovered for a moment over one the the still forms awaiting the funeral pyres due the following day. 

"Oh he didn't..." Varric trailed off as Dorian's arm swept out in a come-hither gesture that had one of the bodies sitting straight up. A shaky moment later and the figure stood, a puppet on unnatural strings, and stiffly waddled over to where the necromancer stood waiting. The smell was not bad--well, not Fallow Mire bad, anyhow, a tad ripe at worst--and Dorian inclined his head, a tad stiff at best, to the surgeon.

"By your leave,” the Tevinter groused; the woman nodded, pale as the sheet covering the body that had gotten up and _walked across the courtyard_ to them. The body itself nodded, albeit a bit stiffly, pale cloth billowing about its head in a mockery of a veil. Dorian raised his hands pushing the sheet back to expose the corpse’s chest but keeping the expired person's face covered. A large incision split the skin from collarbone to navel. Male then, and one that was missing his shirt. “A post-mortem check was already done on this gentlemen then?” Dorian’s voice had calmed an iota, careful to be respectful of one of their fallen comrades despite his need to make a point.

“Yes ser,” the surgeon sputtered. “They thought maybe poison had done him in but it turned out to be a problem with his heart. A problem from birth. He,” a gulp, "-he suspected, I think. Said before that wanted us to learn from him if we could, to spare anyone else the same fate. The rest of us didn't know it was something inborn at the time."

“Ah.” Dorian nodded. “Allow me to illustrate what I was _trying_ to get you to see before, then. This lad can assist me in saving life since I am woefully too late to do him any good.”

Hands draped in slightly wrinkled skin drew open the expired soldier's chest cavity, the corpse helpfully taking care of the operation itself. Varric swallowed audibly, the sting of a second visit from lunch searing the back of his tongue. Bull grunted a little, seeing the placement of organs held back from gravity by a nearly sheer wall of shimmering blue. Dorian's barrier kept everything in its place as he detailed to the surgeon what he thought might be the root cause of the Bull's lingering issues. 

The corpse helpfully used one hand to depress one of its lungs, mimicking the aftereffects from the blow Bull had received as Dorian gestured and explained. Bull tuned the actual explanation out, settling instead on watching Dorian's brow furrow as he endeavored to make the surgeon understand. His features drew pinched as he grew frustrated but the lines in his face smoothed before the woman had time to notice. The Bull didn't need to hear about what Dorian assumed was a trapped air from a _hole in his lung_...it was a bit too close to home at the moment.

"This is not normal. I'm from _Kirkwall_ and this still lands firmly in the 'weird shit I thought I'd never see' column," Varric said finally, half in awe. He shook his head and dragged one calloused palm down his face. "You really know how to pick 'em, Tiny." The Bull's lopsided smirk bloomed across his scarred lips, conspiratorial and proud all at once. "You should probably tell him not to make a habit of this. People will talk. Lynch mobs may happen. Our Inquisitor would be most upset."

"Yeah," Bull agreed. He was creeped out, too...maybe Varric had a point.

Varric took his leave after that, shaking his head one last time at Dorian's tactics. Bull started paying attention again as Dorian concluded "-and as such is more apt to be air trapped within the chest cavity, a residual effect of the lung that was punctured. The hole mended with the potion he took, but the pressure will need to released in order to let the organ heal fully."

"Not stale humours at all, then," the surgeon looked a bit red in the face but she seemed to have gleaned something from Dorian's verbose ranting. Dorian snorted inelegantly but nodded. “We can do something about that. Let me fetch my assistant and the proper tool and we shall.”

“I am glad my exposé wasn't for naught,” he agreed, settling in beside Bull. Seemingly as an afterthought he gave a small flourish with his hand, dismissing the helpful corpse back to its place in the row, muttering a word of thanks under his breath.

“You’re really good at creepy shit, you know that?” Bull asked, shaking his head. Dorian sniffed elegantly, tilting his chin up, and wordlessly placed his hand on top of Bull’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah this didn't need to be a wip for a year but I was worried someone might see it as disrespectful? Hopefully it isn't. 
> 
> I also don't remember who asked for this :(


End file.
